Monday, August 31, 2015

The Fair In Late August

In the song, a young woman

glides through the fair--

a pale chord of satin.


Twilight softens the sky

and the day lessens with crowds

into more shadows and silence.


A few stars waken and swans

(on a nearby lake)

slow the water

in  statuary white.

Evening falls into a dream.


Here, the Autumn wind

moves in early making

her presence known. Her hands

smell of cider and wood smoke.

Her pace the saunter

of a doe browsing the field.


A quiet entrance

but the livestock knows

how quickly she can change

scattering leaves like ashes

or covering the lawn in fleece.


Frost sheared off the wide-

spread chill of October

when smudge pots are lit

and left burning to heat

the orchard fruit.


But for now, sun flickers

between the tents and trees

lighting her and the fairground

with its silvery flame,


the last weeks of Summer

kindled with longing

each soul must define.

Something bittersweet

birds amplify in their passing.
Beautiful drawing is by artist, Alan Lee.

Note -- the reference in the poem to " the song" refers to the old Irish Tune,
"She moved through the Fair".

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